


This is (Not) a Dream

by pippen2112



Series: Go Back to Sleep Series [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Captivity, Dom/sub Play, Double Anal Penetration, Forced, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Denial, Past Relationship(s), Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slut Shaming, Verbal Humiliation, this is bad please proceed with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: While he's awake, Wash can keep himself in check.  He can pretend everything is okay.  That he can survive this.  But his nightmares know the truth.PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS, THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART.





	This is (Not) a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inthrall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthrall/gifts).



> A few notes on this one. Most of the events of this story are dreams, but there is still lots of rape/non-con.   
> The scenes featuring Wash/'Sir'/'Boss' are intended to reference a healthy, negotiated Dom/sub relationship, but Wash's current trauma is affecting his memories.  
> The final scene depicts forced Tuckington. If that is not your flavor, please do not read.  
> Special thanks to sea_pig who was interested in seeing Felix's comment/threat regarding Tucker come to furition. And once again, a huge shout out to inthrall for the prompt that started this series.   
> If I've missed any tags, please let me know.

_His pulse throbs away, his entire head aching from withdrawal, his skin itchy and hypersensitive under the sunlight.  He shudders.  He wants to go home, but he’s been given orders.  He can’t abandon those now._

_He tracks them across half the continent, all the way to the central hub of the planet.  He spends three days scouting the base, skirting patrols, and laying explosives.  The plan is specific, he can’t forget a single detail.  Only once all the pieces are in place does he strip off the rag-tag armor, ripping his underarmor and making strategic cuts.  He doesn’t even wince at the sting.  Compared to the wounds his masters have inflicted, these are practically papercuts._

This is a dream.  You can fight back.

_Bloodied and bruised, the guards let him through the main gate, and the Reds and Blues come running.  Simmons and Donut blink back tears, Grif claps him on the shoulder like he doesn’t quite think he’s real, and Sarge actually cracks a smile.  There’s a cry from the crowd, and onlookers step aside as Caboose barrels forward, scooping Wash into a back breaking hug.  And when someone finally convinces Caboose to let him down, Wash turns, and there’s Tucker, helmet off and eyes so wide Wash can nearly see his reflection in them.  Tucker clasps him just below the nape of his neck, carefully avoiding his implant site, and pulls Wash into his arms, clinging tight like if he lets go for a moment, Wash might just flicker away._

_(Carolina isn’t there.  Carolina is never there.  If she were there, she’d see through him in a second.  If she were there, she’d be able to stop him.  But it’s a nightmare, so Carolina never makes the roster.)_

_It’s only when he spots everyone among the crowd, his entire family gathered within his reach, only then that he attacks.  Knocks Tucker out before he can draw his sword, swipes the shotgun out of Sarge’s hands, and follows orders.  And when all that remains of the United Army of Chorus are bloody bodies and burning rubble, Wash throws Tucker’s limp body over his shoulder and hauls him back to base._

_If only these dreams would fade to black.  If only._

#

When the mercs come into his cell, and Wash snaps into position for them, he tells himself, _This isn’t the worst part._  When Felix tugs him up by his hair and tosses him toward Locus, Wash reminds himself, _This isn’t the worst part._  When Locus presses Wash’s face against his codpiece and tells him to show them what he wants, Wash licks eagerly and at the back of his mind he reminds himself, _This is in no way the worst part._  At least with this part, the doing things part, he has some semblance of control, no matter how small.

The worst part comes when they leave him high and dry, dosed and twitching and in no way prepared to sleep off his arousal.  When he’s awake, Wash can tell himself he’s all right, he can get through this, he understands what he’s playing at and why.

Too bad his brain never got that memo.

#

_He’s swaddled in a warm embrace, squeezed in a too-narrow bunk with Sir, their feet hanging off the foot of the bed but neither of them can be assed to care.  Instead, Wash presses his cheek into Sir’s warm, firm chest and listens to the slow, steady, familiar heartbeat.  Floats a little longer.  He doesn’t have to be a functioning human being until 0600.  He can pull himself together before then._

_The door slides open behind him.  Haggard footsteps approaching.  Small, steady hands weave through his hair.  Pull him away from the warmth.  “You wear him out?” Boss asks, tone dipped low.  A shiver rolls down his spine, and his groin flutters in interest._

_Sir grumbles sleepily.  “Clearly not too much.”_

_Humming, a pleased sound.  “Think he’s got another one in him?”_

_“Doesn’t he always?”_

_“He can speak for himself, y’know,” Wash cuts in._

_“Can he now?”_

_Boss’s hands clench in his hair, tugging the strands just right.  He whines baring his neck.  Humming, Boss licks and nibbles up his throat, just the way he loves._

_Boss settles on his lap, a familiar weight paired with familiar lips enough to make him whine.  “There’s our good boy.”  Wash keens as teeth scrape his throat, as Boss presses them together, chest to chest.  Trembling, Wash melts into the mattress.  Another laugh, low and resonant as a thigh shifts between his legs.  He grinds up against the warmth, the pressure, taking everything he’s given._

_Kisses trail up to his ear, followed by a cruel chuckle.  “Such a slut, aren’t you Washy?”_

_He freezes. His eyes go wide just before the slap lands.  “C’mon, Wash, you know better.”_

_Jerking backward in bed, Wash sees a stranger in his lap, all pointed features and a cutting smirk.  His heart pounds in his ears._ This is a dream. You can fight back. _He tries to squirm away, but the stranger pins him down, wrists and hips.  Shimmies farther up the bed and grinds against Wash’s stomach.  No, no, no, he doesn’t want this._

_Wash looks sideways, seeking out Sir, his lover, his friend, someone big enough and strong enough to tear this stranger off him.  Instead he finds another menace, hulking and dark and bearing down on him.  With an unyielding hand, he pulls Wash’s head back and licks a stripe up his cheek.  “Behave.”_

_And with a word, the fight goes out of him.  He forces out a moan, bites back his tears, and takes it._

When the guards shake him awake for his next dosage, his chest feels tight, and his throat aches, and his empty stomach twists.

#

Every night.  Every goddamn night.  The nightmares never end.  Occasionally when Felix and Locus fuck him past the point of consciousness, Wash can catch a few minutes of peaceful unconsciousness, but those moments always end too soon when one of the mercs shakes him awake.  Were they in any other situation, Wash might be touched by their concern.  As is, every time he wakes up to the same dark walls around him, he wants to cry.

#

_He’s sandwiched between his lovers, their hands and lips everywhere as he holds himself up and tries not to move, just like they told him.  He’s already spread wide around Sir’s cock, and now more fingers probe his rim, teasing their way inside.  Boss.  He throws his head back with a whimper.  It takes everything in him to not buck back into the pressure._

_Under him, Sir cups his face, thumb stroking over his cheekbones.  “Beautiful.”  With a glance over Wash’s shoulder, Sir continues, “Hey, don’t go too fast back there.  Nice and easy.”_

_“If I go any slower, it’ll be Christmas by the time he’s open.”_

_“Please,” Wash cries, hips trembling from staying still.  “I can take it.  I wanna feel you both.”_

_“Shhh.” Boss’s hand lands warm against the small of his back.  “We’ve got you.  Just relax for me, okay?”_

_The fingers on his jaw slip lower, circling his neck, squeezing.  Hard._

_Wash gasps, the menace suddenly underneath him.  With another sharp squeeze, he bucks up into Wash as those gentle fingers keep spreading him._

_“You’re doing so good.,” Boss’s heartfelt words hum in stark contrast to the brutal pace.  “I’m gonna give you another.  Bear down for me.”_

_He closes his eyes, obeying.  At this pace, he already feels full, so full he doesn’t know how they’ll fit another cock in him.  Before he realizes it, the thrusts under him slow to a gentle roll of hips.  He drops against Sir’s chest as soft, sure lips nip along his collarbones.  He shudders, grinding his dick against Sir’s abs, relishing the sensation._

_Behind him, there’s a cutting laughter.  “Just can’t get enough, can you?” the stranger sneers.  “An insatiable little whore like you, I bet the only time you’re happy is when you’ve got two big cocks pressed into your pussy, filling you up so much it drips out your slutty hole.”_

_No, that’s not…. that’s not… But a perfectly angled thrust glides right against his prostate, and Wash can’t help throwing his head back and moaning._

_“You’re so soft sweetheart,” Boss whispers against the shell of his ear.  “So open for us.  Are you ready?”_

_He buries his head in his Sir’s shoulder, shaking with arousal, with shame, with too many confusing sensations to keep track of.  Cheeks burning, he whispers, “Boss, Sir, please.”_

_And before he can stop it, two mouths bite his shoulder and the nape of his neck, and with a sharp shove, there’s another cock inside him, and Wash can’t stop his breathy shriek._

When he screams himself into consciousness, Wash shakes and shakes.  He can still hear the menace humming against his throat, can still feel the stranger’s hands on his hips, can taste his tears and the bitter pills that trap him under and too many happy memories ripped to shred around him.  

_#_

But having his memories reshaped into nightmares that reflect his waking world, hell, that’s nothing.  Wash has had nightmares since before Epsilon, and after, well, remembering another person trying to commit self-destruct inside your head breeds its own special kind of unconscious hell.

No, the worst part, the absolute worst part of all this, is when Wash dreams about his team.  Sometimes it’s them barging into his cell guns blazing and not recognizing him for the wreck he’s become.  Sometimes they free him from his bonds but not before he sees disgust plain as day on their faces.  Sometimes he slips free and makes his way across the planet, finds the Reds and Blues excelling in his absence, _because of_ his absence.  

Those dreams leave him weak and nauseous, curled in on himself until he can remind himself of the line between dreams and reality.  But even at their worst, the rescue dreams are preferable.  At least in those, there’s a sliver of hope that things can go back to normal.

No, in the worst dreams, there’s only one monster.

#

 _When he makes it back to base, he marches through the halls, Tucker passed out over his shoulder.  The pirates won’t stop staring as he passes, making quiet comments and some even pawing at him torn up under-armor as he passes.  Wash forces himself to keep walking, keep breathing, keep from flinching at every cruel word._ This is a dream _He has orders to attend to._ You can fight back. _He’ll follow them to the bitter end._

_Locus and Felix are waiting for him outside the new cell, the one they had him clear out and clean meticulously before they sent him to infiltrate the UAC and bring back Tucker.  Even out of armor, Locus is an impassive menace and Felix a smirking devil.   Wash stills when Locus lays a hand on his chest, lets Locus thumb over his various injuries, double checking each wound.  Meanwhile, Felix slinks around back, pinching Wash’s ass before moving on to the unconscious soldier on his shoulder._

_“Well, fuck,” he says, sounding almost impressed by this development.  “Wasn’t sure you’d be able to manage it.  Good job, Wash.”_

_His cheeks burn at the praise, however slight.  Locus steps a little closer into his space, cupping his cheek.  “You did well.  Achievement merits reward.”_

_Chuckling, Felix smacks his ass.  Wash lets out a bitten-off squeak.  “Oh, yeah.  We know exactly what a good boy like you deserves.”_

This is a dream, _he tells himself as Locus and Felix lead him into the cell._ This isn’t real.  You can stop this.  You can fight here, no repercussions. _But he follows, tripping over his feet in his haste.  Rewards are few and far between.  He’s learned not to turn them down._

_“Put him down here,” Felix says, nodding toward the back wall.  “Get off all that armor and double check him for weapons.”_

_His throat constricts.  He talks a half step forward when Locus lays a firm hand on his shoulder.  “Slowly.  Thoroughly.”  His voice has gone deeper and almost raspy.  Thick with want._

_Gulping hard, Wash nods.  He sets Tucker down gently as he can, but after hauling Tucker out to the boonies for the past six hours with only minimal breaks, his muscles have turned to jelly.  But with no further ado, he sets about unclipping the armor, piece by piece._

_As chunks of armor fall away, he gets the first good look he’s had at Tucker in, well, he doesn’t know for sure, but a very long time.  His shoulders feel firmer as Wash works the chest piece free from the back.  His arms too.  Breathing shallowly, Wash runs his hands down Tucker’s sides, presumably to check for weapons, but his ears are ringing and his eyes can’t blink away from the steady rise and fall of his chest._

_Felix crouches down beside Wash, licks up the line of his neck, and mutters, “Look at you.  Never seen you shy before, have we Locs?  Not even when we let the crew take turns fucking him ‘til he begged for mercy.”  Even as Wash’s flush spreads up to his ears and down his neck, Felix lays a hand over his and drags him up to Tucker’s pecs.  “Give him a pinch.  Fucker complained about it so much during New Republic training, I’m_ curious _.”_

_Wash obeys.  He pinches just hard enough through the under armor.  Tucker’s head falls back, and an unconscious whine slips out as his hips buck forward.  Gaping, Wash tries to drag his jaw back up off the floor, but heat pools between his hips, his cock hardening reflexively._

_Chuckling, Felix trails his hand away from Wash’s arm, down, down, down to cup him through his pants, firm and possessive and so quick Wash flinches.  “There.  Now_ that’s _more like it.”_

_As Wash works the rest of Tucker’s armor free from his unconscious form, Felix keeps teasing him.  Sometimes it’s palming Wash until his hips twitch into the grip.  Sometimes it’s grinding against Wash’s ass until he forgets his orders.  Sometimes it’s a dirty memory, or some detail Wash would never have considered.  By the time Wash has completed his orders, he’s anxious and ready for whatever the mercs have planned for him.  Their torments are mind shattering, but their rewards have always been things of beauty._

_A coil of rope lands on the ground beside him, drawing Wash’s gaze.  He looks up to find Locus hovering over him.  “Restrain him.”_

_And all too quickly, a chill runs down his spine.  Restrain?  As in tie up?  For a solid minute, Wash’s brain short circuits, caught in a loop._ This is a dream.  You can fight back.  This is a dream.  You don’t have to listen. _His mouth goes dry and his stomach lurches.  He stares at the rope, his hands going numb._

_Locus grabs him by the hair, jerking him back to meet his hardened gaze.  “Agent Washington, are your orders unclear?”_

_“No, sir.”_

_“Then I suggest you start working.”_

But I’m not supposed to be on this side of the ropes. _Before he can say as much and put his reward in jeopardy, Tucker stirs, his big dark eyes blinking open, squinting.  “Wash, what’s going on?”_

_Wash stares.  Tucker’s awake.  Tucker’s conscious.  Tucker’s looking between him and the mercs and his eyes are going tight and he’s trying to push himself upright._

_“Washington, now!” Locus barks over his shoulder._

_And Wash jumps to action.  He and Tucker tumble across the cell, throwing elbows left and right as they struggle for dominance.  For longer than he’d like to admit, Tucker holds his own.  But when Wash gets an arm around Tucker’s neck and pins Tucker’s wrists one handed, he hears applause behind him.  Felix appears at the edge of his vision, clapping just before he pulls a pill canister from his belt.  Smirking down at Tucker, Felix pushes the canister into Wash’s palm before taking Tucker’s wrists.  “Dope him.”_

_“Wash, what the fuck?  Don’t,” Tucker screeches, straining and bucking and squirming to get free.  “Please.”_

_Squeezing his eyes shut, Wash exhales._ This is a dream.  You can fight-- _But he takes a familiar pill from the canister, wedges it between Tucker’s lips, and claps a firm hand over his mouth and nose.  Holds tight until Tucker swallows.  Until his body goes limp and the fight seeps out of him._

_“Wow,” Felix chuckles as Tucker goes limp, “he melts too.  Wonder if he screams just the same when he gets edged.”_

_Wincing, Wash pushes himself to move.  Now that’ Tucker’s pliant, tying him down is simple.  Like reverse muscle memory.  Winding ropes into familiar shapes.  Making sure each knot is secure and out of reach in case Tucker regains consciousness.  He tastes bile at the back of his throat when he looks down at his handy work, at Tucker’s arms tethered to his feet.  Hogtied on his belly.  He doesn’t like this noxious squirming in his stomach, but orders are orders.  At least these orders are over._

_He stands, ready to crawl back to his cell until they have another mission for him, but Locus shifts to the side and blocks the doorway.  Wash freezes as Felix lays a hand on the small of his back.  “Easy there, Washy.  We’re not done with Tucker here.  Not by a long shot.”  He turns them around so Wash can get a good look at their bound captive.  “You remember, back at the beginning of all this, you said you’d do anything we asked._ Anything. _”_

This is a dream _.  Wash backs up, right into Locus’s chest.  He jolts when Locus’s arms wrap tight around him.  Felix saunters up into Wash’s space, pressing him backward until he can feel every line of Locus’s chest, arms, and hips.   “Now, now, Washy.  You made a promise, remember?  And now, you’re gonna pay up.”_

 _Yeah, Wash remembers threats from what feels like a lifetime ago._ “Tie down Tucker, drug him, and leave him in a dark little room til he begs too.”   _Shuddering, Wash strains and tries to pull free.  No good._ This is a dream.

_Felix grabs him by the jaw, firm enough to threaten, but not quite hard enough to bruise.  “And if you don’t behave and do every goddamn thing you’re told, we’re gonna take you apart inch by inch, until there’s nothing left in your pretty little head.  And then, we’re gonna chain you to the wall and to the exact same thing to Tucker, and when you beg us to stop, we'll pull back, sure, but then you'll be the one to finish Tucker off.  So,"  Felix pauses, grinding against Wash's hip as he pulls out a knife and presses it into Wash's hand, "do we understand each other?"_

_Wash stares down at the knife, his throat constricted and his groin pulsing._ This is a dream. You can fight back. _He flushes, and with his head ducked and his eyes burning, Wash takes the knife._

_Just like when removing Tucker’s armor, Wash works quickly and efficiently as he can, a thousand times more careful as he takes the knife to Tucker’s under armor.  “Start at the neckline,” Locus says sternly, clearly._

_So Wash cuts through the heavy material, his hands shaking as the knife slides so easily through the fabric.  And for the first time, he’s a thousand times more thankful the mercs demanded he dope Tucker.  If he were conscious, aware, there’s no way Tucker would be able to hold it together right now, not with a knife sliding down his chest, so close to old injuries, to scars that haven’t faded.  Just the thought of it makes Wash’s hands shake.  The knife slips a little too deep, leaves a shallow cut, and makes Tucker suck in a heavy, dazed breath._

_“Easy, Wash.  No need to get sloppy,” Felix coos behind him.  “Clean up your mess.”_

_So Wash bends his head and licks Tucker’s wound clean, working fast.  Before the mercs get any other ideas.  But Tucker’s skin is warm and smooth beneath his lips, soft and sweat slick and Wash’s eyes drift closed as he savors the taste.  How long has he wanted this?  Fuck, too long._

_Firm hands weave through his hair, pulling him back.  “Don’t be greedy, Wash.  Do what you’re told and you’ll get your reward.”_

_Beneath him, Tucker sighs, his hips rolling up as best he can despite the tie.  Wash doesn’t gasp, but his eyes go wide and his hand clenches around the knife.  Exhaling, he splits the underarmor down to Tucker’s navel before going back to slice the shoulders open and peel the fabric away from his chest.  Periodically, Felix will make him lave clean a cut when his attention drifts away and his hands shake.  Or Locus will bark an order to bite.  Each time he puts his mouth on Tucker, heat surges through his groin, especially when Tucker makes soft sounds of pain, of comfort, of want._ This is a dream. _But Tucker’s pulse stuttering when Wash bites his neck, that’s the most real thing he’s felt.  Ever._

_“Fuck,” Tucker groans, high and needy as he bucks up, angling himself against Wash’s leg, and yeah, he can feel Tucker’s erection, hot and heavy against him.  “Fuck, Wash.  Don’t…. don’t do…. stop.”_

_He wants to listen.  Desperately.  For a moment, Wash presses his face into Tucker’s shoulder, breaths in his musk, and pretend that they’re somewhere else.  Safe and warm and surrounded by each other.  That the only thing tainting Tucker’s blood is arousal and endorphins.  That Locus and Felix are dead and gone and the only person telling him what to do is the man under him.  That Tucker won’t hate him when this is over._

_He holds Tucker tight and shudders, tears slipping from his eyes as Locus and Felix pry him off and haul him away.  He strains forward at the faint whimpers Tucker lets out, wants to hold him and comfort him and be Tucker’s safe place.  For a moment, he lets himself fight.  Until Locus wraps a hand around his throat and Felix wedges himself between Wash’s legs and presses a knife against his cock._

_“What did we say, Wash?” Felix asks, his voice hard and his gaze cold.  “What do we always tell you?  Do as your told.  And I don’t hear him begging.  Not the way you promised he would.”_

_“I can’t,” he says, his head hanging and his cheeks burning with shame.  “Please.  I took out the base.   I cut through their ranks and left them exposed.  Just like you said.”  He’s shaking now.  The only thing keeping him from falling down is the threat of the blade between his legs.  “Don’t make me do this.  Please.”_

_Locus angles his head, tips Wash’s head back to glower down at him.  “That was not the deal, Agent Washington.  We give you orders.  You obey, or face the consequences.”_

_“Please.”_

_Felix rolls his eyes, pulling away.  “I’ve heard enough out of you.”  When he returns, he and Locus muscles Wash onto his knees, tips his head back, and push a gag with a long silicon phallus into his mouth.  “Should’ve know your mouths only good for warming a cock.  That’ll keep you occupied.”_

_He whimpers around the phallus, hating that his first instinct is to suck it deeper.  Blinking past his humiliated tears, Wash looks up at the mercs, still pleading._

_“Nuh uh, enough with the kicked puppy dog eyes,” Felix snaps.  “You either get your head on straight and go make him beg for you, or you go put your nose in the corner and Locus and I will.  Who knows?  Maybe Tucker’ll make for a better dick sleeve.”_

_His eyes bulge.  No.  Not Tucker.  He’s only ever fought for his friends, for what he believes in.  He doesn’t deserve this.  To be treated like an object of humiliation.  To be worn down and used and tossed aside at their whim.  Tucker doesn’t deserve that.  Not by a long shot._

_“Do we have an understanding, Agent Washington?”_

_He nods._

_Smirking, Felix ducks down and slices through the seat of his second-hand under armor, lets his dick and balls swing free.  “Get to work.”_

_Wash scrambles over to Tucker, turning him onto his side, relying on his own uncomfortable memories to put as little strain on him as possible.  Tucker groans as Wash manhandles him into position, his cock pulsing and precome dribbling onto his stomach.  Better than spit.  Better than nothing.  Wash scoops up the precome, trails down to Tucker’s hole._

_“What… what’re you….”  Tucker strains, trying to track Wash’s movements despite his drug-numb senses.  When Wash sweeps around the furl of his hole, Tucker jerks.  “No… not there… c’mon, not like this… please…”_

_Wash can’t look Tucker in the eye.  Can only focus on working him open with one hand and stroking him flank to cock with the other.  This is wrong.  This is so wrong.  But if the choice here is him hurting Tucker or leaving him to the merc’s mercy, there’s no other option._

_He looks over his shoulder once more, finds Locus draped over Felix’s back, nibbling at his ear while working his cock.  Felix’s head is tipped back in ecstasy, but Locus locks eyes with him, pulls away from Felix, and  says firmly, “Fuck him.  Now.”_

_And with his his head hung between his shoulders, Wash slicks his cock with his own precome--not enough, not enough, never enough-- and lines up.  At the first press, Tucker whimpers, tears welling at the corners of his glazed over eyes.  Wash buries his head against Tucker’s shoulder, grunts “I’m sorry,” and thrusts home._

It’s only later, much later, when he feels the phantom clench of Tucker’s hole as he comes, only then that Wash shudders back into consciousness, rolls onto his side and vomits.  His dick doesn’t have the decency to wilt.

 _This is a dream, huh?_ Guess that tells him everything he needs to know about himself.  Wash curls in on himself and prays the mercs never get their hands on the Reds and Blues.  Because as of right now, Wash won’t be able to stop them.  Won’t be able to fight.  Not even a little.

 _This is a dream.  You can fight this._ What a fuckin’ joke?

**Author's Note:**

> Suggestions, questions, comments and concrit all welcome! Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.com)


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